Luggage We Have Loved

I recently parted ways with a beloved North Face backpack, one that had seen me through seven years of delayed flights, typhoon rains and a would-be pickpocket in Shanghai. Its zippers had broken down irretrievably, the plastic lining was crumbling, and the water bottle pockets had stretched way beyond their usefulness. When I finally surrendered the pack to a recycling truck in Taiwan, I felt a small stab of grief and wondered how I could ever replace it.

While the era of pasting “Hotel Monaco” stickers on leather cases is long past, luggage still says a lot about who we are and where we’ve been, writes columnist Rob Lovitt on MSNBC.com. And when the time comes, it can be hard to part with a bagful of memories. “In college, I traveled with a beat-up suitcase—bought at a tag sale for a buck—that fit right in with my thrift-shop wardrobe,” Lovitt writes. “With its worn leather handle and faded houndstooth pattern, it was already so tired-looking I called it my ‘Death of a Salesman’ suitcase. Alas, just like Willy Loman, it went out with a whimper as old age and hard travel took their inevitable toll.”

Predictably, Lovitt’s luggage profile morphs into “family mule” after he has kids. Years later, he embraces a carry-on only policy, only to be foiled by his wife who insists on lugging a bulky suitcase dubbed “Big Red.”

My new backpack gets a trial run later this month. I’ll give it time to prove its mettle, but it’s got a tough act to follow.

 

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